


Chances

by Violet_Jones



Series: Scenarios [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 1930s, Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Detective Ian Gallagher, Fluff, Humor, Interrogation, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship, Spaceships, Tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23680225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violet_Jones/pseuds/Violet_Jones
Summary: A small collection of different short AUs. Each "chapter" is really a one-shot.Story 1: The Voice - Ian works at a local bookshop and Mickey needs study materials to take his GED.Story 2: The Pilot - Ian's the head pilot of a spaceship and Mickey just started with the engineering department.Story 3: The Killing - Ian & Mickey travel back in time to 1930s Chicago to witness the downfall a notorious gangster.Story 4: The Suspect - Mickey is busted in a raid and Ian is a detective that he used to know.Story 5: The Rumor - Ian & Mickey live on the same floor and everyone in the building thinks they're a couple.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: Scenarios [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2059911
Comments: 90
Kudos: 259





	1. The Voice

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again to everyone who sent me prompts on [Tumblr](https://thevioletjones.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> Please don't ask for me to continue any of these stories, because I'm telling you right now that I won't. They're all one and dones. Thanks for understanding. :))
> 
> First up: Ian works at a local bookshop, and Mickey needs study materials to take his GED.

Mickey stared down at his phone with deep disdain. Was he really willing to go through with all this bullshit just because he lost a fucking bet? His sister’s sneering face and cutting voice popped into his head spewing the usual hateful, nagging crap she always directed at him, and he sighed heavily, knowing he’d have to bite the bullet and abide by the terms he'd agreed to or else never hear the end of it.

He pressed the telephone number link, then send, bringing the phone to his ear as it began to ring.

“Beau’s Bargain Book Bin, this is Ian, how can I help you?” The voice that greeted him was deep and sexy, which momentarily threw Mickey entirely off his game. He’d been expecting some old geezer, given the ridiculous name of the place.

“Uhhhh…” What was he calling about again? Oh right. “Yeah, you got any of those, like, GED prep book thingies? Like with worksheets and crap like that?”

The guy on the other end of the line audibly snickered, which immediately set Mickey’s teeth on edge. “Yeah, we have those.”

“That funny to you, asswipe?”

“Um, no sir, I just couldn’t help being amused by your phrasing.”

The little teasing lilt that accompanied the tenor was not helping Mickey stay angry.

“Well, maybe next time don’t laugh at someone askin’ for help and just answer the damn question,” he said anyway.

“Will do, _sir_.” Dammit, why’d he keep calling him ‘sir’ like that? “We have GED prep books.”

“Great. So what’s the fuckin’ bargain like, then? You guys sell secondhand shit for cheap or what?”

“We sell both used and new items. It all depends. You can come down and take a look. But if you don’t mind my saying, I would also recommend the adult continuing education classes at the library. They can be really helpful.”

Mickey’s eyebrows quivered and shot up. “Yeah, I do mind you sayin’. You tryin’ to tell me to go back to school?”

“Um, no. I’m trying to tell you that the library has free classes that help people like you get ready for taking the GED.”

“ _People like me_? Who exactly are people like me, asshole? Retards? Dumbfucks who had to drop out?”

“Uh, look, sir—”

“And stop callin’ me fuckin’ ‘sir,’ bitch! I’m gonna come down there and you can say that shit to my face!”

Mickey hung up the phone in a giant huff, wishing it was like the old days when you could slam the receiver down gratifyingly into the cradle. Or at least snap the fucking flip-phone mouthpiece closed. Smartphones were bullshit for ending angry phone calls. You could only press your finger down forcefully and let out a long, angry grunt of frustration. That was the opposite of satisfying. It was like an aborted orgasm or something. He couldn’t exactly afford to throw the thing at the wall though. Instead he tossed it gently onto the couch and stomped off to find his cigarettes.

It wasn’t even a half hour later when he marched into the shitty little hole-in-the-wall bookshop a handful of blocks over.There were a total of zero other patrons in the store based on his cursory glance around, and only one tall redheaded fuck behind the counter with his back turned.

“‘Ey,” Mickey called out sharply. “You the joker tryin’ to send me back to degenerate school?”

Red whipped around stiffly, and Mickey’s forward gait stuttered. If this was the melodious voice, then he was in serious fucking trouble, because the guy was hot as hell. He definitely didn’t look like he belonged cooped up in some musty old bookstore owned by some Geritol popping grandpa.

“GED guy?” It was definitely the sexy voice. Dammit.

“Good guess,” he shot back. “So you gonna say it to my face, or what, tough guy?”

The dude’s tense shoulders sagged a little, and his handsome face softened. “Look, you were jumping to a lot of conclusions on the phone, man. I wasn’t trying to put you down or anything, okay?”

“Sounded a lot like you were,” Mickey replied, slowing his roll slightly, but crossing his arms in a small show of defiance. “Came off like an uppity prick, to be honest.”

Red chortled, glancing away, and something inside of Mickey fluttered unwittingly.

“I'll let you in on a little secret, Rumble Fish… I never graduated high school either. I took the GED myself a few years ago. Hence my advice, cuz I know of which I speak.”

That took Mickey aback. This guy didn’t talk like some dropout. “The hell is a fuckin’ rumble fish?”

The guy snorted. “It’s a book about a young ruffian who fights a lot. They made a movie out of it too. Matt Dillon played you.” Now he was fucking smirking at him.

The gall.

“Oh yeah?” Mickey asked, unable to stop himself from being charmed by this idiot. He figured maybe he should take a wild stab in the dark. “I guess he used to be pretty hot back in the day.”

That titillating smirk blossomed into a full-on wolfish grin. “Yeah, he was.”

Was this fool looking him up and down now? Jesus.

“You checkin’ me out?” Mickey hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

“Maybe I am.”

“What’s your name again?”

“Ian.”

“Right. Mickey.” He pointed his thumb at himself dumbly.

“Right. You wanna go check out the books you need then?”

“I wanna check somethin’ out alright.” Oh god, was this him flirting? He was pathetic.

But Ian just chuckled and motioned for him to follow him through the tall stacks. Mickey obliged, watching his ass the whole way.

“Since these are workbooks, you’re gonna wanna buy new, or else go through all the pages and make sure they’re not marked up or torn out. Don’t wanna be given the answers by someone else, or you’ll never learn, right? If you use a notebook instead of writing in the book itself, you can always bring it back and re-sell it. I’m diligent about making sure we don’t take annotated books, but I can’t say the same for my co-workers.”

“Is Beau your senile grandpa or somethin’?” Mickey asked as Ian turned a corner and perused the bottom of a shelf to the left.

“No, Beau is the old _lady_ that founded this place like 50 years ago. She likes low prices and alliteration. She doesn’t visit us much. Her grandson’s the manager. I work for him.”

“Ever tried to tell him to get a less embarrassing name for the place? It’s straight outta the 40s or some shit.”

“What do you know about the 40s?”

Mickey shrugged. “Look, PBS is the only channel we always got reception for. I may be a dumbass motherfucker who didn’t get past 9th grade, but I seen all those Ken Burns documentaries and shit.”

Ian smiled at him, and it didn’t look patronizing. “I’m sure that’ll come in handy, actually. The GED is extremely general, like the name implies. It doesn’t get into a lot of the nitty-gritty. You just have to prove you know the basics. That’s why everyone calls it the ‘Good Enough Diploma.’ Most of the questions lean toward the 9th grade level, rather than the 12th, really. Anyway, the hardest part for me was the Math section, but I guess we all have different strengths and weaknesses.”

Mickey nodded. “I’m, uh, actually pretty good with numbers. I’m more worried about the essay writing shit.”

Ian nodded, reaching for a decently large and fat paperback and handing it over. “You’ll have a lot of practice prompts in here. You just have to follow the basic 5 paragraph format, so I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it. Whether or not you check out the library tutoring,” he said with a little knowing look. “You should also buy a cheap scientific calculator, good with numbers or not. You’ll need it for some of the functions. This explains everything, though. It covers each section and has a lot of practice tests.”

Mickey exhaled loudly as he flipped through the manila pages, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I’m puttin’ up with this shit again as an adult.”

“What, testing?”

“Yeah. Makes me feel like a kid again.”

“Try not to look at it that way. And stop calling yourself dumb for dropping out. We all had a lotta shit to deal with growing up around here. Most of us didn’t make great choices as teens. Doesn’t mean we gotta stay ignorant forever. But you don’t have to prove anything to anybody either. Or is this for like a job prerequisite?”

“Uh, not really. Maybe eventually, I don’t know, but it’s actually a stupid story.”

“What did I just say?” asked Ian with a frown.

“Tone it down, Reading Rainbow. The reason I’m doin’ all this is pretty stupid, trust me.”

Ian leaned back into a shelf and crossed his arms. “Lay it on me then.” Mickey looked him up and down with a slight leer, and Ian rolled his eyes. “Not what I meant.”

Mickey laughed. “Fine, I’ll fuckin’ tell you… My sister and I made a bet.”

Ian nodded. “And? That’s not a story. You have to provide actual details.”

It was Mickey’s turn to roll his eyes. He sat the GED book on the closest shelf and leaned back across from Ian. “You’re really demanding for a fuckin’ stranger, you know that?” He paused. “Anyway, our dad is kind of a piece of shit, and so are all our older brothers. They really are dumber than rocks, and not even you could get them to pass a goddamn test, alright? So, my dad and two of my brothers got busted on a drug run a few months back, and they just got convicted and sentenced. Me and Mandy decided to bet on how much time they’d each do. Whoever got the closest won braggin’ rights. Who ever lost had do whatever the winner wanted, no questions asked.”

Ian’s brow furrowed. “So… you lost the bet, and as a punishment, she’s making you take the GED?”

Mickey shrugged. “That’s the long and short of it.”

Ian chortled. “That is… strangely benign and noble of your sister.”

“Not really. Bitch knows I fuckin’ hate school.”

“Still, she coulda asked you to murder someone or something, but she just wanted you to study and take a test.”

Ian had no idea how accurate that statement truly was. “Yeah, a fuckin’ test that’s gonna cost me hundreds of dollars too. She thinks it’s hilarious. Thinks I’m gonna fail too, but fuck that. Even if I have to go to your fuckin’ library, I’m gonna throw the passing score in her face.”

Ian smiled widely. “Now that’s the kind of talk I like to hear! All you gotta do is take it seriously and you’ll do fine.” He started making his way down the aisle then. “I gotta get back to the front in case some hooligan tries to come in and rob the register.”

Mickey picked his book up off the shelf and followed, snickering. “You sure you don’t hang out with the _Batteries Not Included_ set? You kinda talk like an ancient fossil.”

“You sure _you_ don’t? That reference is older than dirt.”

“Hey, at least it was more clever than your common idiom.”

Ian laughed as he came up behind the counter once more. “I think you’re gonna do fine on the English portion too.” He winked.

_Winked._

What the hell even was this day?

“That’ll be $32.78,” Ian continued after scanning the book’s barcode.

Mickey’s eyebrows raised. “What the hell? Thought his was the goddamn bargain basement?”

“You’d be looking at more like $50 if you bought it somewhere else.”

“Fuck me,” groused Mickey, pulling out his wallet.

Ian smirked playfully. “Maybe later.”

“Ha ha,” Mickey derided, forking over the cash. As he took the change, then the bag from Ian’s hand, he felt awkward. He didn’t usually have such an easy rapport with random dudes he met. He didn’t usually even meet random dudes, period. Picking them up for sex was always a purposeful, impersonal kind of thing. But he didn’t know how to play this one. “I guess I have to say thanks, huh?”

“That would probably be the polite thing to do, yeah.”

“Fine. Thanks for the _good enough_ help.” That got a belly laugh from Ian that lit up his face, which was what Mickey was going for. “Sorry for bein’ aggressive before.”

Ian shook his head. “It was the highlight of my day.”

Mickey blushed and brushed away something invisible that tickled his nose. “Guess I’ll see you around then.”

As he began to turn, Ian’s voice stopped him. “Wait, that’s it?” Mickey arched a curious eyebrow. “You check me out, you flirt with me, you thank me for helping, you apologize for wrongdoings, and now you’re just gonna leave?”

“Was there somethin’ else I was supposed to do?”

Ian nodded and sighed. “Maybe you are a bit dimwitted after all.” He tapped his fingers on the countertop until Mickey gave him an imploring glare. “You’re supposed to ask me out, dumb dumb.”

“I am?”

“Yeah.”

“I never asked anyone out before.”

“Well, as some people like to say in the common vernacular: there’s a first time for everything.”

Mickey did his best to bite back his smile. “And you couldn’t just ask _me_ out instead?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Mickey licked his lips. This guy was something else alright. “Fine. You wanna go out?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool. When?”

“Friday?”

“Great. What time?”

“Eight?”

“Okay. Where?”

“Right out front.”

“Sounds like a fuckin’ plan then.”

As he reached the shop door, Ian called out, “Hey Mickey!” He turned once more in question. “What were you gonna make your sister do if you won the bet?”

“Thought about somethin’ involving ex-boyfriends, and fake pregnancies, and fake STDs, but I ended up landin’ on making her repaint the entire house inside and out.”

Ian laughed again, and said, “I get it now. You’re both softies that think you’re badasses.”

Mickey gave him a resolute middle finger with the hand that wasn’t holding his purchase. “Guess you’ll find out.”

He thought it was a pretty good exit line.

  


  



	2. The Pilot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Ian's the head pilot of a spaceship, and Mickey just started with the engineering department.

“God… fucking… dammit!” Ian cussed as he smashed his finger into the same button over and over and over again. He then moved to toggling the switch next to it on and off and back and forth fruitlessly. “Piece of shit… motherfucker!”

Somewhere over his shoulder, a mellifluous, sarcastic whistle sounded long and loud as it approached. “Problem officer?”

“Officer?” Ian asked incredulously before turning around in his chair and coming face to face with a man he’d never seen before. “I’m not an officer, I’m a pilot.”

The guy was short with dark hair, but pale skin, which was an odd yet not unpleasant combination, and he was wearing a maintenance jumpsuit with no name tag.

“My bad. This is my first gig on this particular spaceship. All you different crews have your own titles, and hierarchies, and semantics, but it’s none of my business really. Just tell me what you want me to call you, and I’ll do that.”

Ian’s brow furrowed. “Who are you and why are you talking to me right now?”

The guy pursed his lips and scratched at his eyebrow. “Think it’s pretty obvious that I’m a repair guy… from Engineering? Name hasn’t been stitched onto my uniform yet.”

“I didn’t call for a repairman.”

“No, but your boss did,” the guy replied, thumb indicating an older gentleman across the deck.

Ian bent his head around and caught the captain’s eye, receiving a cheeky smirk and a knowing nod. Ian looked back at Mickey and rolled his eyes.

“Look…” he raised his eyebrows in question.

“Mickey,” the maintenance guy answered.

“Mickey… I think I can handle this. I’m about to run some diagnostics, and in the meantime,” he glanced at his co-pilot to the right, “Russ here has perfectly good control of the ship.”

“Uh huh,” said Mickey with a condescending little smile. “Well, that’s not really gonna work for me, see… the captain is the captain, and he ordered my boss, the head engineer, to send someone to fix this for you. Guess that means he knew you couldn’t handle this sorta repair on your own. Anyway, you can make yourself scarce for a while, since you’re not actually flying anything.”

Ian’s mouth dropped open, aghast. He was usually treated with reverence aboard the ship. At the very least, people respected him. He was the fucking primary pilot, after all. They put their lives in his hands every day. Yeah, he was part of a team, but he was like the first one on the frontline whenever shit went sideways. Maybe he wasn’t the captain, or the commander, but he still couldn’t help but silently think of the craft as _his_ ship. And he wasn’t about to wander off on a long break and let this random yahoo he didn’t even know have free reign of his gear board and equipment.

“If you think I’m going anywhere while you work on my station, you’re outta your fuckin’ mind, pal.”

Mickey chortled. “ _Pal_? What’re you gonna call me next? _Buddy_? _Champ_?” He casually pushed past Ian and set his case on the floor. “You wanna hover around over me, be my guest, but keep your damn trap shut and let me do my job, alright Sparky?”

Ian tried his best not to fume, but he wasn’t entirely successful. Still, he managed to stay quiet as he watched Mickey arrange his tools and open the circuit board beneath the console. He was actually fascinated with the mechanical guts of the spacecraft, but he’d always been terrible at anything remotely mathematical, and couldn’t make it into engineering school no matter how hard he’d studied. When it came to ships, he could work it all, but he didn’t know exactly _how_ it worked, and that was frustrating as hell at times like these. Knowing the theory wasn’t always enough.

Mickey worked quietly for over an hour, never daring to say a word to Ian, in spite of his watchful presence. Occasionally, the man would accidentally brush against Ian’s leg with his arm or his back, and that somehow sent the pilot into a tailspin thinking about how long it’d been since he’d gotten any. It was pathetic that he couldn’t help thinking about sex just because some repair guy harmlessly grazed him through his clothes. This culminated in deep frustration that he had no prospects to speak of on this entire ship-full of 2,000 plus people. He couldn’t just run out and get laid like he could back home. 

If his horniness was making him long for this random dude that clearly didn’t like him at all, he was definitely in a bad way.

“I’m gonna need to solder this, and I didn’t bring my kit for that, so I’ll be back in like 15.” Mickey said, breaking Ian’s reverie. “Think you can handle it, coppertop?”

“My name’s Ian,” he responded tersely, over the ginger jokes since he was a kid. “See you in 15.”

Mickey smiled at him then, and it didn’t even seem sarcastic. Ian didn’t know how to react, so he just blinked and turned away to grab his handheld computer. He spent the minutes waiting on Mickey answering messages from his family back on New Earth. Ian still sometimes snickered to himself at the unimaginative name the colonizers came up with for their substitute planet when original Earth was too far gone to save and technology finally gave them an exit strategy. It just didn’t have the same ring to it as New York or New Mexico, but as the history books described, the Global Coalition couldn’t come to an agreement on anything better, as all the votes seemed to end in stalemate. “New Earth” was just some lazy middle-of-the-road decision, because humans hadn’t apparently evolved much since they first started crossing oceans and declaring themselves the owners of lands no one had actually given them.

Once Mickey’d returned and the soldering was about to get underway, Ian was eager to observe again. To his surprise, he was tossed a protective face mask without a word before the sparks started flying.

Another hour later, everything was patched up and properly reassembled, the little buttons and switches working the way they were supposed to again. Ian still had a few hours left on shift, and Mickey hung back to watch as the control was shifted back to the main board, from the co-pilot’s station.

After a good 20 minutes of smooth sailing, Ian switched to autopilot and stood up to reach for the engineer’s hand. “Looking good. Thank you, Mickey.”

Mickey gave him an almost coquettish once over. “Same, Gallagher.”

“Oh, so you know who I am now?”

Mickey shrugged. “You’re the head pilot. I knew who you were before I came down here.”

“Coulda fooled me,” said Ian, noticing that their hands were still clasped. He looked down at them, then back up into Mickey’s eyes. They were a sparkling, pretty shade of light blue.

“Act like a dick, get treated like one,” Mickey replied without irony.

Ian gasped and let his hand fall. “ _You_ were the one being a dick, not me.”

Mickey rubbed his nose and reached into his pocket, pulling out a genuine piece of paper and a pen. Ian had only ever seen one person use those, years ago, and it had been a very old man whose parents had actually been alive during the Earth to New Earth transition.

He scribbled something down quickly and handed the paper to Ian.

“Block E, number 492,” Ian read aloud.

“That’s my cabin number, pilot boy. Maybe you wanna come over for a nightcap later.” His impeccably arched eyebrow left no room for misunderstanding his intentions.

Ian tittered breathily, surprisingly not blindsided for someone so hard up for man-on-man intimacy. “I think I just might.”

By the time his shift ended, Ian found himself jittery with nerves. He knew not to pretend like this was anything else but a hook-up, but it sort of felt like a first date or something. Sure, Mickey hadn’t actually invited him to the food court, or the greenhouse gardens, or the night club, or the cinema, but whatever. He could call it a date, at least euphemistically.

He took the time to go back to his own quarters to change and freshen up, before he headed to E block. It was nearly a 10 minute walk from his cabin, but it wasn’t so bad. He followed the GPS map on his handheld, because he never came this way, and the pathways were winding and all looked the same. If he had to follow the posted signs only, it’d probably take him another 10 minutes to navigate.

Mickey grinned widely at him when he opened the door, which kind of threw Ian for a loop. Even when he’d dared to ask Ian for this booty call, he hadn’t done more than smirk slyly. He looked pretty good in plain clothes, though, even though they were nothing fancy. It displayed at least a little personality, which uniforms never could for obvious reasons.

“Hi,” Ian greeted, stepping inside, gulping when he heard the heavy metal door close behind him.

He looked around in interest. The room was much smaller than his own, but filled with much more stuff. Some of it was shiny, new, top-of-the-line electronic type gear, but most of it looked decidedly… _vintage,_ a word his older sister had taught him when she was studying Old Earth culture and got really into ancient styles of fashion and decoration. Mickey must’ve gone through some kind of phase like that too, because there were gadgets Ian had never even seen before, or only saw depicted in books or films, littering nearly every surface.

“Wow,” said Ian. “Your place is really impressive. You sure you haven’t been living here for years?”

Mickey laughed. “Nah, I just like to bring a lotta shit with me wherever I set up camp. Makes me feel less like some automaton.”

Ian nodded. “It is hard to maintain individualism on board, I suppose.”

“Guess these petty engineering quarters are a lot smaller than your fancy pilot digs, though.”

“They are,” Ian affirmed. “But I promise you, I don’t have anything as interesting as you do filling up my space. I’m pretty boring. I do have a window, though, so that’s nice.”

Mickey’s room had one of the fake electronic window screens that the more “economical” cabins were equipped with. Ian got First Class privileges with his position, and they were deemed worthy of actual views of the galaxy outside. Even though Ian looked at the skies all day as part of his job, he still liked to do it in his own time. It was one of those things that just never got old to him.

“Must be,” said Mickey, walking past him and toward a corner of the room with a pleasant-looking metal cart with a crystal bottle of brown liquid and tumblers set on it. “You drink whiskey?”

“Um, sure?”

Mickey’s head whipped back and he chuckled. “You ever even _heard_ of whiskey?”

Ian smiled and shook his head. “No.”

Mickey started pouring it out into two glasses anyway. “It’s an alcohol they used to love back on Earth. I know a guy who makes all kinds of Old Earth drinks, and this one is my favorite. The old traditional alcohols have a kick to ‘em that the new ones just don’t have. They mess you up a lot more.”

Ian’s eyebrows wavered. “Do I want to be messed up?”

Mickey shot him a cocky look. “Definitely.”

Ian was pretty sure he fucking blushed at that, and tried to tell himself to calm the hell down. Mickey was turning out to be so much nicer and more fascinating than he’d imagined he would be. He’d half expected Mickey to just yank him inside, shove him against the door, and have his way with his body. But maybe that was Ian’s neglected dick over-fantasizing.

He accepted the glass as Mickey handed it to him, saying, “Bottoms up.”

Ian snickered at the strange expression and tossed back a swallow. It burned like hell, tasting weird and sharp, prompting him to cough and blow out air that felt almost fiery.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” he exclaimed as Mickey bent over laughing.

“Told you they didn’t fuck around on the first planet.”

Ian wheezed. “I guess not. You actually like this shit?”

Mickey shrugged. “You eventually acquire a taste for it.”

Ian made a skeptical face, unsure of whether he actually wanted to polish it off. Mickey gestured to a small velvety-looking couch, and they sat down, so he set it aside for now.

Now it felt kind of awkward, like they were getting to that inevitable build-up to fucking their brains out. That was always weird the first time. How slow or fast were you supposed to go? When did you know if the timing was right for a first move? How deep should you get with the pre-sex conversation when you didn’t really know the other person? It’d been a long time, and he could barely remember how he used to be able to play it so cool.

He wanted to ask Mickey a million questions about himself. What ships had he worked on before? Where did he go to school? What city/state/country did he live in back home? How did he like being an engineer and what were his specialties? What did he do for fun outside of work? What were his interests and hobbies?

What he ended up blurting out was, “How’d you know I’d be interested if you asked me out?”

Mickey chuckled and set down his own glass. “I took a wild guess that those little gasps you let out every time I touched you meant that you might be into it. A straight dude woulda just moved his chair farther away the first time I brushed his leg.”

Ian’s jaw dropped. “You were doing that on purpose?”

“A little,” Mickey admitted.

Ian shook his head, slightly embarrassed, and decided to just be honest too. “I’m usually not this desperate, but I’ll freely admit that it’s been a while since… you know.”

The way Mickey’s eyebrow arched sort of did things to Ian’s insides. “Oh, so you’re just desperate? Any cock’ll do?”

Ian shook his head rapidly. “No! I didn’t mean it like that!”

Mickey stared him down harshly for a long moment, then broke out laughing. “Just fuckin’ with you, man.”

Ian exhaled loudly and punched him on the arm. “Fuck you.”

“Was plannin’ on it,” Mickey stated boldly.

“And if we’re being explicit about what’s going on here, it’s more like, ‘Any _ass_ ’ll do.’ That a problem for you?”

Mickey bit his lip, eyes still bright. “Not at all, officer.”

Ian rolled his eyes. “I told you, I’m not an—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mickey interrupted, “shut the fuck up.”

And then he kissed him.

  


  



	3. The Killing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Ian & Mickey travel back in time to 1930s Chicago to witness the downfall of one of the most notorious gangsters of the era.

_July 22, 1934, Lincoln Park, Chicago, IL_

“This was such a dumb idea, Mickey. There are feds everywhere!”

“Yeah, and they’re all busy tryin’ to nab literal Public Enemy Number One, so what’re you so worried about?”

“Um, I’m worried about the fucking time machine in the alleyway five blocks away, and how we’re gonna get near the fuckin’ theater since it’s surrounded by G-Men anyhow.”

“You read the damn biography, Gallagher. You know they set up a shit perimeter full of innocent bystanders. Coppers didn’t know what the hell they were doin’ back then.”

“You mean back _now_.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Whatever. This is gonna be so fuckin’ cool.”

Ian’s face scrunched up. “Your murder boner kinda disturbs me sometimes, you know that?”

“Well, you followed my murder boner all the way to the 1930s, so maybe you shoulda protested sooner.”

Ian flicked him in the ear as they kept walking.

They hadn’t been together very long yet, but they were already pretty close. He supposed that’s just what happened when you had a strong mutual attraction with someone and were forced to endure all kinds of grueling training and initiation together. Aside from their romantic relationship, their partnership was almost militaristic. The branch of NASA that oversaw the time travel trials made it so.

They’d been recruited from nothing because they each had a certain set of skills, and as much as there were actual trained scientists raring to go back in time, they needed a first wave of guinea pig men and women that could serve as sacrificial lambs should testing go awry. If anyone blew up or got stuck in the past somehow, they were expendable. The world simply couldn’t spare any of the geniuses exploring time and space anymore, seeing as Earth was half on fire and a quarter flooded. They needed all those big brains working for the cause. Once the process was tweaked and perfected, they would start sending the experts on these little adventures, and any surviving members of Wave One might just be eligible to be their guides.

Until then, there were Ian and Mickey, and a handful of other pairs of maze-trained lab rats hurtling through dimensions in the name of Science with a capital S.

They’d been teamed together from the get-go, right after the aptitude and personality tests were concluded. The physical trials started later, and if either of them had failed to meet any standards, both would have been disqualified. That was one of the many parts that were startlingly army-like, which Ian was familiar with having served in the past. Mickey had an entirely different background of the more _criminal_ variety, and Ian still sometimes questioned how the hell he was considered recruitable by fucking NASA of all government entities. Somehow, they were supposed to balance each other out, yet they weren’t exactly polar opposites either.

Still, after months of rigorous testing in all sorts of mental and physical varieties, they’d made the fucking cut. And as soon as they were inducted to the ranks, they started sleeping together. There’d been a palpable sexual tension between them the whole time, but they’d been afraid of all their hard work being thrown in the trash if they were to get kicked out for “fraternizing” during bootcamp. All it took was that one celebratory night of drunkenness for all of their walls to come crumbling down. They didn’t act like they were together when they were around their coworkers, but Ian kinda figured most of them knew anyway. It was pretty hard to get anything by such a small, elite team.

The Biograph Theater was only a little over a block up to the left now.

“There’s gotta be a spot we can stake out and see it all,” said Mickey, scouring both sides of the street as they approached.

They still had almost two hours to kill before anything would go down, but surely the rooftops would be occupied by some kind of rudimentary version of a SWAT team, right? Procedural details were always hard to pinpoint when it came to the past, and neither Ian, nor Mickey were exactly scholars with expertise on historical criminal law enforcement. Still, they’d never trust a man in uniform. Well, _that particular_ uniform at least. Not after all the shit they’d seen and dealt with growing up where they did. Back in Future Chicago where the Great Depression had been long over in name, but might as well have still existed for them and theirs.

Ian caught sight of an apartment building sort of catty-cornered from the theater that had small balconies cut out from the brick. He nudged Mickey and motioned toward the building with his head.

“One of those balconies would be perfect, as long as we don’t get hit by a ricochet. Could be dangerous.”

“Dude, we found out we can’t change the past. We woulda known if someone in that building caught a deadly bullet, right?”

Ian shook his head. “You know I don’t agree with you on that assessment, and we’re still new at this shit. Anything could happen. I don’t wanna be stuck dragging your corpse back to the future.”

“Settle down, McFly, we’ll be fuckin’ fine. I could break into one of these places easy. Shit, it’s the 1930s, people probly leave everything unlocked anyway.”

“If I’m McFly, you’re Biff, asshole. And we’re not breaking into shit. It’s still broad daylight, and if someone calls the cops, they’re literally right at the doorstep. I’m not getting fucking arrested in 1934.”

“Why not?” Mickey asked amusedly. “Could be fun to break out. Dillinger and Baby Face Nelson did that shit not long ago.”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s just go watch your fuckin’ hero get shot up without the incarceration part. I got an idea.”

Ian’s idea involved knocking on doors near the front side of the building until he was greeted by a single little old lady, to whom he then spun a yarn about how he used to be sweethearts with a girl who lived in the building, and how he came back for her, but she didn’t live there anymore, and did she know the young lady? And it was a good thing that they’d procured some era-appropriate clothes and props, because suddenly, there were Ian Gallagher and Mickey Milkovich, sipping tea and sharing a piece of bread and butter in the kitchen of some random woman born in the middle of the 1800s, listening to her tales, which were frankly way more boring than they’d hoped given the space and time traveled.

As the clock neared the hour they knew shit was about to go down, Ian slyly requested permission to take air on the balcony and have a cigarette with his friend, Mick, if it wasn’t too much trouble, and then they’d be on their way. She agreed, and his boyfriend giddily made his way outside with Ian at his heels.

“Jesus, firecrotch, cuttin’ it close with that old windbag.”

“Whatever, I got you a front row murder seat, baby. I deserve a reward.”

“Oh, you’ll get your reward later, big boy.”

They pushed each other around good-naturedly and Mickey pulled out a faux silver cigarette case and a box of matches. They had a perfect view of the street in front of the cinema where _Manhattan Melodrama_ was displayed across the marquee.

“Can’t believe we’re about to witness this shit,” Mickey continued as he lit his smoke. “So badass.”

“Whatever,” said Ian, snatching the cig, “I still say we shoulda gone to the 1860s if we were gonna do the assassination rubbernecking. Seeing Lincoln get shot would be a million times more significant.”

“No way we woulda gotten into a fuckin’ play with the President, man, not even back then. This is way easier, and way cooler. This dude is one of the most notorious gangsters of all time, and we get to see him eat lead.”

Mickey positively radiated excitement, and now Ian really was really concerned.

“This is the weirdest thing I’ve ever agreed to do with you.”

“Ain’t my problem,” Mickey groused, snatching back the cigarette. “If you wanna know about the death of Lincoln, just go ask Grandma. I’m sure she remembers.”

Ian snorted, but before he could respond, there was a sudden burst of activity across the street. The movie was letting out.

“Oh shit,” said Ian.

“This is it,” said Mickey.

Within a few minutes time, all hell broke loose. There was scuffling, yelling, screaming, and suddenly deafening gunfire. Like a lot of it. Everyone was ducking and running in panic, but they could clearly make out John Dillinger, followed by Melvin Purvis and the other feds, running around the building into the alleyway they had an unobstructed view of. They could even see the infamous fugitive’s body drop limply to the floor as the shots still rang out around them. Pump him full of lead they did, in an unabashed excess of force.

They’d traveled all this way, and it was over in seconds.

Ian grimaced sympathetically, but Mickey… Mickey looked almost gleeful. It was a little frightening to Ian that he was falling in love with someone who had a true tinge of the psychotic inside them.

“Holy shit!” Mickey exclaimed. “People really are swarming him to get blood samples.”

And to Ian’s total horror, Mickey took off on a tear out of the apartment, just as the little old lady ran toward the balcony.

“What on earth happened? What’s going on?”

“Oh, well, it looks like the police shot a man outside.”

She gasped and hustled toward the railing. As they watched the chaotic, gruesome scene below, Ian eventually saw Mickey emerge from the large crowd to wave a scarlet-soaked handkerchief at him, then take off down the street toward the park.

“Shit,” said Ian. “I’m sorry, ma’am but I’ve gotta go. Thank you for the hospitality.”

She nodded in confusion and stuttered a goodbye, then Ian went after his batshit boyfriend. At this rate, he’d have to stop him before he tried to join up with what was left of the Dillinger gang before the rest of them got shot up later on in the year. He’d probably try to make himself the kingpin of the remaining operation, going against all the rules in the book.

“Crazy motherfucker,” Ian muttered as he took off running.

Luckily, Ian was a fair bit taller than Mickey and was a faster runner in general, so he was able to catch up to him before he did anything stupid like interact too prominently with someone he shouldn’t. There was a long list of rules they needed to follow if they were going to be able to keep doing this job, and Mickey was very laissez-faire about adhering to them, because he didn’t see how any higher ups could possibly find out.

This was only their third “mission” to the past, and due to some accidental entanglement with a certain Native American historical figure in the 1700s, Mickey was of the belief that whatever they did didn’t matter, because it wouldn’t change anything about how history unfolded or the future ended up. Only, no scientific method had been applied to come to that conclusion, and they had no real idea if that theory would hold true no matter what. They weren’t physicists. They didn’t know if “course correction” was a real thing. They were to minimize their affect on the past as much as possible to avoid potentially cataclysmic events unfolding.

NASA hadn’t yet green-lit time travel into the future for similar reasons. There was a whole lot of paradox worry, but it was above their pay and IQ grades.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” asked Ian after he’d spun Mickey’s heaving form around to face him.

He watched him pull out a plastic zip-lock bag and seal up the blood-soaked fabric in his hand.

“You have any idea how much this’ll be worth when we get back? They’ll have practically fresh Dillinger DNA to examine. Scientific black market is the most lucrative,” he said pocketing the item securely.

Ian rolled his eyes. “Look, I don’t say anything when you acquire stuff to sell as antiques in the future, but you need to be careful with this kinda shit. It’s dangerously close to getting involved in historical events, and it’s definitely not something they had in mind for us to be doing on these journeys.”

“Relax, Red Scare, no one caught me. No one’ll know.”

“Yeah, you always say that, but one day you’re gonna get caught. And I’ll probly be out because of you. Even if I’m not, I don’t wanna do this with another partner.”

Mickey’s eyes softened slightly at that. “You’re such a sap. I promise I’ll be careful. The knew who I was when they signed me up this shit, and besides, no way they’re gonna find my hollowed out spot in the machine.”

“They could easily find it, Mick. They’re actual fucking rocket scientists!”

Mickey made a jerk-off motion with his hand and reached for his smokes again.

Ian eyed him more intently. “You’re not thinking about seeking out Baby Face and the others that survived on the run are you?”

“Huh?” asked Mickey, but he wouldn’t look him in the eye as he fumbled to find his matches.

Ian grabbed his wrist forcefully. “You cannot go trying to get into some criminal gang. Not only does it violate policy, but those guys‘ll just shoot you the fuck up. You won’t even know how to speak their language.”

“I know the lingo just fine. A couple days wouldn’t make a big difference. We know when they all die.”

“That’s it. We’re goin’ back now.”

“What! We said we’d stay here a few days. We can get a really fancy hotel downtown for fuck all. Like three old-timey dollars!”

“No. I don’t fucking trust you as far as I can throw you.”

“Come on, man, think about it! It’d be like no other adventure someone from our time could have!”

“Um, pretty sure we could just decide to lead a life of crime on the run at any time, but surprisingly, now that I’m making actual good money, I really don’t feel the need or the want.”

“It wouldn’t even be the same, though. 1930s, Ian! These people were actually well-liked by lower and middle class society. They were like Robin Hoods.”

“Mickey, don’t make me get out the fucking taser, because I will knock you out and drag you back to the machine if I have to. You can’t violate every fucking rule in the book on our third trip! If not for our sake, for the actual sake of the course of human events.”

Mickey shoved him in the chest, but fell in line. “Fine, fuck! I guess this is why they really paired me up with your goody two shoes ass. Always raining on my damn attempted parade.”

“Like you’d wanna do this with anybody else.”

Ian didn’t let go of his arm the whole way back.

  


  



	4. The Suspect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Mickey is busted in a raid, and Ian is the detective that he used to know.

Mickey bounced his leg and bit his thumbnail, his agitation overwhelming all his senses as he sat in the hard metal chair in front of the cold metal table. It felt like he was trapped beneath a tsunami and was never going to be able to breathe again. He was totally and completely fucked.

This wasn’t supposed to be his life anymore.

At least he wasn’t handcuffed at the moment, which was kind of strange, but he wasn’t about to question it. He just wished one of them detective dickheads would come question him already, so he could ask for a lawyer, get charged, and be on his merry way to jail. Sitting here in the interrogation room was too nerve-wracking. They all knew how this was gonna end, so he resented the additional wasted time.

According to the watch they hadn’t yet confiscated, he’d been sitting there staring at the blank wall for 45 fucking minutes now. He knew they did that shit on purpose… like antsiness was supposed to loosen tongues. Really, it just made people more pissed off. Being held against one’s will already sucked enough.

_Finally_ , some scruffy dude walked into the room, his red head down as he read over a case file. The door closed heavily behind him as he took a seat across the table from Mickey, still not making eye contact.

“Mickey Milkovich. Long time, no see. How’s your sister?”

Mickey’s eyebrows shot up at the unexpected familiarity. “Huh?”

The cop looked up at him then, a lopsided smirk on his fuzzy face. “Mandy. I haven’t seen her in ages. She doing alright?”

Mickey shrugged. “She’s fine. Why do you give a shit, pig?”

Ginger-beard just snickered. “Guess you don’t remember me then.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms; the sleeves of his crisp white button-down rolled up as if to purposely accentuate his buffness. “I was a lot scrawnier back in the day, rounder face, kinda goofy lookin’, couldn’t sprout a whisker to save my life…” He quirked an auburn eyebrow at him like a dare, green eyes looking playful, which was very unsettling considering the dynamics in this scenario.

Mickey just stared at him like he couldn’t give a fuck less who the hell he was, because he really couldn’t.

“I’m Ian. Gallagher. Detective Gallagher, if you’re nasty.”

That made Mickey’s mouth drop open in genuine surprise before he could help it. _Holy shit_. _Gallagher?_ He definitely remembered the teen version. Him and Mandy had been attached at the hip for years back in high school. Mickey never talked to him much, but he was around their house an annoying amount of the time. He looked… very grown up. And okay, maybe Mickey did care who he was a little. Too bad he was a fucking cop. And straight to boot.

He quickly schooled his features and resumed his practiced facade. “Yeah, whatever. I remember you. Can we get this shit over with? Makin’ me sit here all goddamn night for no reason is fuckin’ bullshit.”

“Fair enough,” said Ian, folding his hands together on top of the file. “You wanna give me your side of the story before I start asking specific questions?”

“Ain’t it pretty self-explanatory, man?”

“Not necessarily. You were caught up in the cathouse raid in flagrante, but there seems to be some confusion as to the extent of your involvement in the prostitution ring.”

“What the fuck does _that_ mean? I ain’t a part of shit!”

“Look, we’re aware of the hand-whore brothel your dad used to run out of the Alibi some years back, as well as past connections between Terry and the Bartkowicz brothers running this particular ring. Obviously, we have your prior arrest records, which coincidentally all seem to be related back to dear old Dad in one way or another, so… you see why we have questions now?”

Mickey slammed both fists down on the tabletop and stood brusquely, sending his metal chair crashing loudly to the linoleum floor. “This is fuckin’ bullshit! You can’t pin that shit on me!”

Gallagher stood up tall and menacing. “Sit down, Mickey.”

“Fuck you! I ain't listenin’ to anymore of this!”

He tried to march straight to the door, but found himself running into a wall of built redheaded prick. Before he could think better of it, he pushed Gallagher forcefully, then suddenly found himself knocked sideways into the hard concrete of the actual wall. Within milliseconds, Mickey was pressed against it chest first, one arm twisted painfully behind his back, and the other trapped by his own body, with the officer’s forearm tight across the nape of his neck.

“I’m gonna give you one more chance to sit here without the fucking cuffs on and answer my questions. You try something again, and I’ll get one of the bruisers that likes to bust heads in here to slap ‘em on your hands _and_ your feet. Got it?” Gallagher’s breath was hot against his ear, confusing the hell out of his brain.

_Shit._ The only thing Mickey was getting was a goddamn killer of an erection. That would be the worst thing to let on given the circumstances, so he nodded vigorously as best he could being largely immobile.

“Yeah, yeah, man. Sorry.”

Ian's body moved away from Mickey’s back, and he felt cold at the loss, turning around slowly with his hands up. Gallagher pointed at him, then to the chair he’d previously occupied, eyeing Mickey apprehensively.Once he, the suspect, was seated again, the detective sat back down as well.

“Believe it or not, I’m trying to help you. For Mandy’s sake. I won’t be able to if you pull stunts like that. I know you wouldn’t rather be dealing with one of the other guys on the task force.”

Mickey sighed, sagging in his chair. “Whatever, man. I don’t know anything. And I ain’t just sayin’ that. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. For real. That’s it. I don't work for my piece of shit father anymore. He’s inside doin’ time, I’m out here, actually earnin’ an honest living for once in my life.”

Ian gave him an incredulous look, then re-opened the file on the table, thumbing through a few pages deep. Mickey watched as he read whatever the fuck was written there, and the way those orange eyebrows suddenly shot up as Ian sent him a stunned look.

“What?” asked Mickey.

Ian cleared his throat and looked back at the page. “It says here that you weren’t busted with a woman.” Mickey gulped. “You were busted with a man.”

Mickey struggled to keep his cool, but managed to suppress the ire and fear boiling beneath the surface. “So?”

“You’re gay?” Ian bluntly inquired.

“Nah, I just like havin’ another guy’s dick in my ass.”

Ian’s mouth slowly lifted into a perplexing smile. “Wait here.”

And just like that, Gallagher was gone, and Mickey was most definitely totally fucked. No way South Side cops were gonna go easy on the closeted fag criminal son of a dude they all despised with a fiery passion. Gallagher had probably gone to get the whole squad to come and bash on him until they finally decided to transfer him to gen pop.

He went back to shaking a leg and biting down a nail, and it felt like fucking forever before Ian returned.

He was still alone, thank fuck, and he stood in the middle of the room for a moment, just staring Mickey down. After the dramatic pause, he said, “You’re free to go.”

Mickey’s jaw dropped yet again. He knew for a fact he’d been looking at about 30 days jail time, or at the very least, some hefty-ass fine for solicitation, and possibly another round of probation. They weren’t even sending him in front of a judge?

“What the fuck you mean I’m free to go?”

“Exactly what I said. You’re free to go.”

“How?” Mickey shouldn’t be glued to this fucking hot seat asking stupid fucking questions, but he couldn’t help it. It was like the damn _Twilight Zone_.

Ian shrugged. “I took care of it. From one queer on the DL to another.”

Mickey gasped, eyes bulging. “You fuckin’ serious? Didn’t you used to date my sister?”

“I did. In a sense. She knew who I was from the beginning. Did me a favor. We protected each other. This is just an extension of that. Besides, I always kinda had a crush on your dirty, crude, thug ass. Even though you were always an asshole and never looked at me twice.”

If Ian kept shocking Mickey like this, he was gonna need a defibrillator to get his heartbeat back at the proper pulse rate to function.

_What the actual fuck?_

“Oh, I looked twice, Gallagher,” he found himself automatically replying as he rose on a wave of pure relief and some small sense of elation, “you just never caught me.”

Ian belly-laughed. “Until now apparently.”

Mickey flipped him off and followed him out of the room. For some reason, he was escorted all the way to the station door, not even having to sit and wait for his personal belongings to be returned. Gallagher just handed over the envelope with his phone, keys, and wallet in it without fanfare as they passed by the front desk.

“Stay outta trouble, Milkovich,” Ian called to him as he walked into the night.

Mickey smirked and turned around as he kept walking. “You know where I live if you got a problem, Gallagher.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“Fuck you,” he answered in amusement.

Seeing Ian’s reciprocal smile, he turned back around and pulled his cigarettes out, wondering what the hell was going on over and over again as he lit his smoke, inhaling and exhaling every other step.

He felt dizzy with emotion. That was such a close call. He’d put himself in a dumbass situation, because he was still so fucking scared of openly being himself, even after all this time. Even though Terry was in prison, and he didn’t do his bidding anymore. Even though he had a legit job, and he paid his fucking taxes to avoid even mild heat. Even though he wasn’t afraid to take it up the ass anymore. He was still doing stupid shit like paying rent boys to fuck him. And of course since Mickey’s luck had always been shit, the once in a blue moon he’d gone that route, the goddam police force had planned and executed a full-scale raid. And there he was, buck naked and getting railed, when some mustachioed cop had shoved a shotgun in his face with a look of disgust, repeatedly calling him a fag as he got dressed before being roughly ‘escorted’ from the premises and into a police van full of hetero pervs. He might as well have had the word ‘cockslut’ tattooed on his forehead.

He was certain that whatever goodwill he’d built up since being out of the game was flushed down the toilet with that one fucking mistake. He’d lose his job. He’d be back on probation for a year or two. He’d have to start from scratch all over again. Just because he didn’t wanna do the fucking for once.

He was so sure.

Then Ian Gallagher popped out of nowhere and saved him from that fate. A person he hadn’t thought about in a literal decade. He wasn’t lying when he said he’d eyed him covertly back in the day. He really had. Sure, Ian wasn’t as hot then as he was now, but he’d damn well stillbeen the best looking guy in his shitty orbit. He did look a bit too young for Mickey, and since Mandy had never given him up for being gay, he had no idea he wouldn’t have been barking up the wrong tree. Mickey had zero fucking gaydar back then. He forgot about the kid pretty soon after he’d disappeared from his life. Mandy had taken off to the other side of town, and Ian had no reason to hang around Milkovich Manor anymore.

This was a night chock-full of left fielders, that was for fucking sure. Not how things were supposed to go, but shit was he grateful.

He owed Ian. Big time. And maybe, just maybe, Officer Sexpot would come up with an interesting way to collect.

  


**One week later…**

Mickey bristled at the loud knock at the door. He wasn’t expecting anyone, and he didn’t fucking like it when people just showed up out of the blue. It usually wasn’t for anything good, and he didn’t feel like dealing with any bullshit tonight.

“What!” he was already grousing, before the door even swung open to reveal the visitor. He really needed to figure out how to stop being surprised by this bitch. “Gallagher?”

“The one and only.” He leaned against Mickey’s doorjamb like he owned the place, which was both annoying and arousing all at once.

Mickey crossed his arms, leaning against the door instead. “Didn’t think you’d actually show your face around here after all.”

Ian shrugged. “Been busy with that stupid brothel bust case. Had to work OT and shit. Not much time for anything else but sleep and working out.”

Mickey licked his lips and gave him a slow once over. “Gotta maintain that form, I guess.”

Ian smirked knowingly, giving him the full-body scan in return, then held up a six-pack. “You want a beer?”

“Hell yeah, I do,” Mickey replied, waving him in.

The place was kind of a mess, but not even a quarter as bad as it used to be when he was younger, so he figured Ian could probably handle it. He sat back down on the couch, motioning for Ian to join him, then grimacing at the weed and rolling papers he had sitting out on the table.

He glanced at Ian with an unmistakably guilty look on his face, unsure of what the hell to say to deflect the obvious. He just ended up humming, “Uhhhhh…”

Ian snorted and rolled his eyes. “It’s okay, Mick. Technically, weed is legal here in Illinois now anyway. I’ll just assume you purchased it from an authorized dispensary, and we can move on with our lives.”

Mickey exhaled heavily, “Oh, thank fuck. I don’t even know what all the rules are. Seems like they’re designed to keep it illegal for most of us degenerates.”

“You’re not wrong,” said Ian. “But we’ve been ordered to treat it more laxly. Doesn’t mean everyone heeds that, though. They’re never gonna change the old-timer, hardline motherfuckers. Or the racists. Or the homophobes. Bigots in general.”

“Guess I really do owe you a big one, then, huh?”

Ian shook his head and cracked a beer, handing it over to Mickey. “I don’t know. Wouldn’t be very ‘keeper of the peace’ of me to do a tit for tat. I was just helping you out because it was the right thing to do. I could tell you were telling the truth about not being involved beyond the… you know…”

“Paying for sex?”

“Yeah, that.” Ian opened a beer for himself and took a swig. “Gotta say, though, I was mildly surprised that you weren’t on probation or anything. Made me cutting you loose a lot easier. And also, just so you know, I was able to amend and omit the gender of the prostitute you were caught with. There’s no official police record of you being…”

“A big ol’ ‘mo?”

“Uh huh.”

“Damn, Gallagher.” He took a long pull from the beer and swallowed hard. “You really went above and beyond for an old crush who treated you like shit all the time. Pretty sure I _do_ owe you, whether you want it or not.”

Ian chuckled as he took a sip and sat his can down on the table. “Well… I don’t know about a formal payment, but uh, do you ever, you know, hook up with guys that you don’t…”

“Pay for?”

“Right.”

“Yeah. I do sometimes. The thing last week… I hadn’t done that in a long time, but… I had a certain itch that I don’t like to scratch in public, if you catch my drift.”

Ian snorted. “Jesus. You know, this just sounds like _I’m_ soliciting _you_ now, which is definitely not my intention. I don’t mean like, hey, you could owe me sex. At all. That’s so gross. I mean like, hey, you could maybe… go out with me sometime? Only if you want to! Not like, I’m not obligating you. My intentions are honorable, or whatever.”

Mickey laughed incredulously. “Honorable? You literally just busted me for bein’ a skeevy john, and you think, ‘Hey, he’s good dating material?’”

“Um…” Ian scratched the back of his head. “ _Yeah?_ Yes. I mean, look, I have a past too. Before I decided to get on the force, I may have… had some experience with the seedier side of gay club culture downtown.”

Mickey’s eyebrows raised real high. “That a fact?”

“We don’t gotta give each other our complete oral histories tonight, alright, but I’m not gonna judge you for banging some hookers.” He paused thoughtfully. “As long as you wrapped that shit up.”

Mickey snickered. “Tight as a drum, Gallagher. I ain’t _that_ dumb.”

Ian threw his head back in a full-throated laugh and hid his face in his hands. “God, this is weird isn’t it? I’m sorry.”

Mickey shook his head adamantly. “Nah, it really isn’t though. I mean, _it is_ , but not in a bad way.”

Ian picked up his beer and toasted him. “Guess I’m kinda glad you got picked up then.”

“Maybe I’m a little glad too,” Mickey replied, chuckling. “Man, you must be pretty hard up.”

He got an elbow in the side as Ian answered, “Maybe you’ll find out later.” He looked him right in the eye then, and wiggled his eyebrows like a nerd. “Now… why don’t you roll a joint and pass it this way, tough guy.”

Mickey bit his lip as his stomach fluttered. “That I can do.”

Later that night, he said a silent ‘fuck you’ to his father as a very manly officer of the law stuck a very big cock up Mickey’s ass, on top of the blanket his dad used to lay on, under the roof his dad always lived beneath, near the closet he used to stash all the guns and coke and crank in, by the spot he’d once beat his son unconscious on.

Mickey’d never thought about a cop boyfriend being the perfect revenge fantasy until that very moment.

Maybe he could get Ian to stick around a while and make it come true.

  


  


  



	5. The Rumor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lastly: Ian & Mickey live on the same floor, and everyone in the building thinks they're a couple.

Ian was still in his paramedic uniform when he got home Tuesday evening, stopping off at the mailboxes in the small lobby of his apartment building to check his mail before heading up to rest his tired bones. He was kind of blanking out as he stared at each envelope a little too long, not really processing what they were. Long days made him ditsy like that sometimes.

A throat suddenly cleared purposely behind him, and he nearly jumped out of his skin, moving aside and turning toward the culprit.

It was his next door neighbor, Mickey Milkovich. He only knew his name because the mail sometimes got switched up, since there were only 2 units per floor, and only 8 floors total. Mickey gestured toward the mailbox right next to his without saying a word, and Ian simply took another step to the left.

“Sorry about that, I was spacing out,” said Ian.

No reply.

“Long day,” he continued for no reason. “Probly don’t even actually need to open any of this.” He waved his stack of mail to and fro.

Absolute silence. But Mickey did side-eye him a little as he reached in and pulled out a couple envelopes and locked the box back up.

“Cool,” Ian added unnecessarily as they both started for the elevator.

Luckily, he was spared an awkward ride up when a chick from 7 came in and got on with them. They were on 6.

“How are you guys?” she asked, only looking at Ian.

“Good, good,” answered Ian. “How’ve you been?”

He could see Mickey roll his eyes dramatically in his periphery, obviously not a fan of the small talk.

“Oh, you know, same ol’, same ol’, but I can’t complain,” she replied. “Taking some time off soon. Can’t wait!”

“Nice,” said Ian. “You going somewhere?”

“Canada! Montreal, to be exact. Been learning some French, but I’m not that great at it.”

“That’s awesome. Good luck!”

They hit the 6th floor and Mickey quickly stepped out before Ian, while the woman whose name Ian couldn’t remember said, “Thanks! Have a great night, you two!”

Ian’s brow furrowed as he turned back to face her, but the doors were already closing. He glanced at Mickey, who also looked slightly perplexed and annoyed, but still didn’t utter a word as he swaggered toward his end of the hall. Ian gave up and headed to his own door. It sort of sounded like their upstairs neighbor was under the impression that they were a couple. But maybe it was just weird phrasing. It was ambiguous enough that there was no way of knowing for sure.

He knew that Mickey was also gay, since he’d seen him around with a guy or two, throwing vibes that felt a lot different than straight bro friends. It was kind of odd that they’d ended up occupying the same floor. There weren’t any other queers in the building that he knew of, although he had his suspicions about the loopy old lady who lived alone on 3, but what business was that of his anyway.

Ian went directly from his door to the bedroom, throwing off all his work clothes, and pulling on comfortable sweats and a tank, before collapsing on top of the bedcovers. He didn’t even know if he had the energy to make dinner. He might just take a little baby nap first.

  


That Sunday, Ian was mercifully off duty, and getting back from an afternoon jog when he ran into his taciturn neighbor again. He was sweating like a pig, shiny running shorts gleaming, and slightly out of breath, because he usually waited until he got back home to rehydrate. Mickey also had a kind of glow to his pale skin, the gym bag on his shoulder making it obvious that he too had been recently exercising.

“Good workout?” asked Ian.

He wasn’t sure why he always tried to talk to Mickey despite the clear signs that he had no interest in being friendly, other than the fact that Ian just didn’t like it when other people didn’t like him. His brother always told him that his tenacity was practically a liability. He never knew when to quit.

“Uh… yeah,” said Mickey. And that was probably the second time in a year that he’d actually directed two words Ian’s way. He was pretty sure he’d once asked him to hold the elevator.

Ian was saved again, by another neighbor, and this time he actually knew her name: Kathy from 8. Her husband was pretty hot, which helped Ian remember them better. He never said he wasn’t shallow.

They exchanged pleasantries and Ian asked after Sean, and Kathy got a little giggly.

As the bell dinged the 6th floor arrival, she added, “It’s so cute that you guys even work out together!”

Mickey was already halfway out the elevator, and Ian knocked into him when he stopped abruptly, causing them both to stumble ungracefully into the hallway. They turned back to the woman in the car as she kept yapping.

“Worked up a sweat, huh? That’s pretty hot!”

She was smiling almost comically wide as the doors slid closed, punctuated with an exaggerated wink as the slabs of metal met in the middle and she disappeared from view.

“The fuck?” observed Mickey.

Ian snickered. “My thoughts exactly.”

He looked over to maybe continue the conversation, but Mickey was already trudging away, the material of his trackpants rustling as he went. He didn’t spare a backward glance, so Ian just shook his head and walked to his own door. He needed an ice cold water stat.

  


It was a little over a week later when it happened again. This time, they were both coming through the door with bags of takeout. Ian gave Mickey a strained smile as they both walked to the mailbox wall and retrieved their exciting paper bills and advertisements. Maybe he’d once offended Mickey or something, and hadn’t realized it. He just didn’t understand the contempt. Not that he ever saw Mickey giving _any_ neighbors the time of day, but still. If they really were the only two gays in the building, why didn’t he want the solidarity at least?

On this particular elevator ride, they were accompanied by a nice, straight, middle-aged couple with a sulking teenager in the background leaning against the elevator wall.

“Ooh, that smells good,” the wife said. “What are you guys having?”

“Thai,” replied Ian.

“Mexican,” Mickey answered in unison.

They stared at each other as the wife laughed.

“Couldn’t agree, so you went to two different places?” She slapped her husband’s chest with the back of her hand. “See, Ed, now that’s a compromise. I always let him have final say, but I shouldn’t, should I?”

Before Ian could say anything to correct her, the family was exiting on the 4th floor and waving goodbye, and he was left alone in the lift with Mickey, the silence engulfing them like flames.

But much to his surprise, his neighbor finally found his voice.

“You wanna tell me why the entire fuckin’ building seems to think you and I are in some kind of relationship?”

“How the hell should I know? I’m just as baffled as you are.”

The door opened to their floor and Ian stepped out first for a change.

“Just as long as you’re not some weirdo tellin’ people we’re together cuz you're fucked in the head or some shit,” Mickey said to his back.

Ian stiffened as he turned to face him, biting back a nasty retort so as not to stoop to his level. “I’ve never told any of these people anything personal, let alone invented wild stories for their benefit. I’m guessing since we’re the only gay dudes in the building, and we share a floor, they just assumed… plus, you have to admit, there've been a lot of coincidences lately.”

Mickey’s face was as inscrutable as ever as he snapped, “Fuck your coincidences,” and dismissed him by walking away yet again.

A part of Ian wanted to bellow a loud and clear ‘fuck you’ at Mickey’s back, but he tamped it down, because it didn’t feel worth it. If his neighbor wanted to go through life being a miserable prick to everyone all the time, that was his business. Ian was done expending energy on toxic people, and refused to be roped into anger and resentment over something that didn’t ultimately matter, or have any effect on his life. It was some zen bullshit he was trying as a form of self-therapy.

At the end of the day, it was all Mickey’s loss anyway. He was good-looking enough, and there was something in him that seemed pretty interesting. (People didn’t tend to become hardened assholes without some kind of compelling backstory.) Maybe it was just the mystery, but there was _something_. Point being, if he’d drop the fucking attitude just a scoach, he might be someone worth getting to know. Worth being friends with. Worth asking out. Worth being the boyfriend all the quasi-strangers around them thought he already was.

That would be the ultimate meet-cute, right?

_Cute, dark, mysterious, boy next door flirts with you a little everyday, until the sexual tension builds and builds, and one day you just come crashing together because you can’t resist anymore._

Yeah. That would be a good story. But that wasn’t what this was at all.

  


Ian arrived home at his usual time after a day shift the following evening, and a slightly sketchy looking guy he’d never seen before got on the elevator with him, exchanging a nod. Ian pressed the 6, and the dude didn’t press anything, which put him on alert. What if this guy was trying to follow him up and rob his place? Maybe he wasn’t smart enough to hit a decoy floor number higher up to throw him off.

Ian steeled himself for a possible fight, sliding his keys between his fingers in case the guy had a knife or something. He pressed his back to the wall of the elevator and let the other man get off first. His adrenaline was already pumping hard through his veins, all his instincts channeling into defensive mode.

But then, the guy went right, and Ian went left. He heard the knock down the hallway at his back, and couldn’t help but look over as Mickey appeared in the doorway. He gave the rando a very slow and obvious once over, biting his lip and inviting him in with a tip of his head.

Just as Ian was about to turn back to his own entryway, Mickey looked him dead in the eye, giving him a sly smile as he shut the door.

Ian’s brow furrowed in confusion. Did Mickey still think that Ian wanted him or something? Was he putting on some kind of a show to prove everyone else wrong? It’s not like Ian hadn’t gotten the picture loud and clear. Mickey didn’t want to flirt with him. He didn’t even want to make small talk with him. He didn’t even think it was funny that people thought they were a couple with the flimsiest evidence ever. Ian knew that Mickey wasn’t interested. Why would Ian try to bark up that tree?

_What a fucking lunatic._

  


Every 4 to 6 months or so, the tenants of their building would throw a rooftop party. It wasn’t the most happening scene in the world, but it was fun enough, and a decent excuse to get tipsy for free and peer at the distant Chicago skyline. He’d usually stop by for a couple hours, down a few cups of spiked punch, dazzle a few straight ladies with some old stripper dance moves, and retreat to his apartment to get high and pass out. Last time, he’d brought his brother Lip, but this time he brought an actual date.

He hadn’t been seeing Lane for very long, and he didn’t really have any illusions that they’d become the real deal or anything, but he was hot, and nice, and good in bed. Not the best sense of humor, a little uptight, but okay for now. They'd met on a dating app a few weeks ago, and he figured they might squeeze another month or so out of it and go their separate ways. He wasn’t adamant about long-term compatibility at the moment. He was okay with just having a good time.

They danced to the crappy old music, toasted the neighbors with their Solo cups, then gossiped about them behind their backs like catty bitches. Sometimes he could’ve sworn that they were catching the stink-eye from a neighbor or two, but then it would pass.

He was surprised as hell to see Mickey there. He hadn’t lived in the building as long as Ian, but he’d never come to one of these get togethers before. He looked kind of sulky and maybe a little… _forlorn_?

Ian ran into him at the punch bowl at some point, and despite his better judgment inquired, “You doing okay? You look kinda down. You break up with that guy or something?”

His filter was probably gone on account of all the many boozes mixed into the fruit juice.

“What guy?” asked Mickey, looking genuinely puzzled.

“That _guy_. He was in the elevator with me. Saw you with him last month.”

Mickey snorted. “Man, I never saw that dude again after that night.”

“Oh.”

“What’s up with Captain America?”

“Huh?” Ian squinted.

“The dude you brought.”

“Ohhh… he’s just a guy I’ve been seeing.”

Mickey nodded. “You guys like picnic together? Get a little dog with a fuckin’ sweater?”

“Nah, we don’t picnic, we mostly just fuck.”

“Is that a fact?” replied Mickey. “He looks too clean-cut for you.”

Ian laughed loudly. “Well that’s rich, seeing as you don’t know me at all, do you?”

He patted Mickey on the shoulder in what he hoped was a condescending manner, and walked away, wondering why so many people seemed to be staring at him.

Not soon after, Ian realized he was quickly descending into the drunken danger zone, and deemed it time to get back to his apartment. He pulled Lane back to the stairs, and they stumbled their way down to his floor, giggling and pausing to make out in the doorway as Ian tried to get the key in the lock. They pulled their lips away from each other at the ding of the elevator, still tangled up with heaving chests as they watched Mickey emerge, looking like a deer in the headlights when he spotted them pressed together.

“Uh, hey,” Lane greeted lamely.

Mickey’s nostrils flared, and he did a swift about-face, making his way to his door and slamming it shut as he went.

“What the hell is _his_ problem?” asked Lane.

Ian shrugged. “He’s just like that. A dickhead in general.”

He finally got the door open and pulled him inside. He was not up for having the bubbly mood ruined by someone else’s weird bullshit. The strangest thing was that he swore he’d seen a flash a pure jealousy in Mickey’s eyes back there. But that couldn’t be right.

  


Ian was barely through the door from work the following Monday when there was an unexpected knock. He’d spent Sunday recovering with a hangover from Saturday night, and just wanted to stuff himself full of leftover Chinese and lay on the couch watching something funny until he passed out.

He was a little stunned to see Mickey on the other side of the door.

“Can I help you?” he asked, like maybe he’d gotten lost or something.

“Got this in my mailbox by mistake,” said Mickey, shoving a piece of obvious junk mail in Ian’s face… a coupon for something or other involving cars. He didn’t have a car.

Ian took it from him with an amused air. “Gee, thanks. I’ll just get that right into my recycling bin.”

Mickey didn’t laugh at the joke. In fact, he shuffled from foot to foot looking oddly… _nervous_.

As the silence stretched on, Ian got increasingly confused by their random staring contest, until his neighbor finally spoke.

“You serious about that douchebag from the other night?”

Ian’s eyebrows raised. “Lane?”

Mickey snorted. “His name is _Lame_?”

Ian rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “His name is _Lane_ , like I just said.”

“Of course it is. Anyway…” his black eyebrows went up really high as his forehead crinkled and he jerked his head, silently bidding him to answer the question.

“Am I serious about him? No, not really. Why?”

Mickey’s blue eyes darted back and forth as if he was trying to find something in Ian’s green ones. Ian had no idea what, but his heart started pumping wildly for some reason, and when those eyes fell to his lips, his fell to Mickey’s, and some understanding began to dawn.

He was already frozen in shock when Mickey swooped in swiftly and kissed him hard on the mouth. Despite his utter bewilderment, Ian found himself melting into it, opening his mouth a bit and slipping some tongue in as he yanked Mickey inside his apartment, the door banging shut behind them.

They tumbled down on the couch together, and Ian was a little overwhelmed by the raw animal magnetism now vibrating between them. _He knew it_. Deep down. He knew there was something about Mickey that he was drawn to, and even though he’d always indicated otherwise, there’d been an underlying feeling that Mickey was drawn to him too.

It was that thing where you knew someone vaguely for a while and always suspected that eventually you’d have sex. Even if you were both with other people. Somehow, your bodies just knew that one day they’d get to know each other. Pure instinct.

After round 1 on the sofa, they’d moved to the bedroom for round 2. Ian was positively giddy at the pleasant unpredictability of the turn of events with his grumpy neighbor. It was totally absurd that they were now lying next to one another, naked, sweaty, and spent.

Once he’d finished catching his breath, the laughter bubbled up and he couldn’t contain it any longer.

“What?” asked Mickey.

Ian shook his head. “I just thought you fucking hated me.” He chuckled some more. “What changed?”

When Mickey joined in the laughter, Ian marveled at his smile and the fact that he’d never actually seen it before, which was a shame, because it was nice. His latent crush would’ve been a lot stronger if he’d seen it more.

“I never fuckin’ hated you, Red. I've just always been like that with people.”

Ian turned on his side to face him, propping himself up with one arm. “Well, maybe if you’d just learned to relax and tone it down a few notches, something would’ve happened between us sooner.”

“Look, I didn’t think _you_ were interested either. You were just being annoyingly polite with your inane small talk. I don’t buy that shit.”

“Yeah, well, I try not to get crushes on people who hate me, so I guess it’s just one big cycle of misunderstandings. But still… why make a move now, out of the blue?”

Mickey sighed real big. “The other night at the party, like ten different neighbor fuckheads came up to me all sympathetic-like, talking all soft about our imaginary break-up, since we didn’t show up together and you brought that other guy.”

Ian guffawed. “Oh my god.”

“Yeah. They dissed you pretty hard for having the balls to put on such a petty display to make me jealous. It was kinda funny at first, but after a couple rounds, it really wasn’t. That’s why I was so pissed off, and didn’t talk much. Got fuckin’ sick of tellin’ people we were just neighbors and were never together in the first place. I stole a bottle of rum when I left, and I don’t even like rum, but I tied one on pretty tight. Had a big-ass hangover yesterday. Got to thinkin’… maybe if everyone and their goddamn mother already thinks we’re together, we should test it out and see if we should _actually_ be together.” He paused with a breathy laugh. “Fuck, I sound like a gay-ass pussy.”

“That’s called a bussy,” Ian joked.

“Huh?”

Ian chortled. “Never mind. But hold on a sec… I thought this was just a fun, one-time sort of dalliance?”

Mickey’s body noticeably tensed up, and he immediately started uncovering himself with the sheets. “Uh, yeah, fuckin’ obviously.”

He was halfway off the bed before Ian could get his arms around him to pull him back, rolling on top of him to pin him down.

“Jesus, I’m just fucking with you. Don’t run outta here just yet.”

Mickey exhaled in relief and managed to flip him, getting on top. “Now who’s bein’ a prick, you asshole?”

They laughed as they wrestled for dominance, and eventually went for the elusive 3rd round.

  


The following week, they were on the elevator going down. Things between them had been going well, and tonight they were actually going to venture outside the building and go on a proper dinner date. So far, there’d been a lot of sex and a lot of jokes, but not too much depth just yet. Still, Ian could really see the potential. He hadn’t felt like it could actually work out with someone he was messing around with in a long time. It was exhilarating, and they couldn’t keep their hands off of each other.

Which is why they were full-on making out when the doors opened to the lobby, and it took the intrusive clearing of a foreign throat to break them apart.

They looked over in tandem to find two different harpy neighbors grinning widely at them.

“I knew it!” said the curly-haired one.

Ian could see Mickey about to object, so he grabbed his hand and pulled him along briskly.

“Yep, you win!” he called out as they exited the building.

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra special thanks to that small handful of people that always support my writing. You're the best! 💜


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